The Ugly Duckling Debutante Page 3

  “Ah yes, the ruined reputation rumors rear their ugly heads.” He knew it was a valid concern for any young debutante, but surely this woman wasn’t launching into society. She had to be somebody’s mistress. Yes, that was it. He took another look at her hair and dress. Confound it! How had he not seen it before? Of course she was someone’s mistress. She was foreign! Nobody in the ton had a complexion that dark.

  “Where is your protector, sweet?” he drawled, not at all embarrassed of the husky tone his voice had suddenly taken. Surely a woman of this type was accustomed to this sort of attention.

  “My protector?”

  “Yes, the man who… Well, the gentleman who pays for your protection and other things.” He waved his hand in her direction, waiting for her coy response.

  “Sir, I do not know what you mean.” Her eyes took on a fiery glint. “I assure you I’m here with my aunt.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes!” The mask on her face shook as her face fell into a tight nod. “Furthermore, it’s entirely improper for me to be discussing such things.”

  “Because you’re a lady?”

  “Exactly.” The innocence of her answer made his knees go weak. If she didn’t belong to anyone, and she truly was accompanied by her aunt, then he was flirting with danger. Yet he couldn’t curb the impulse to reach out and touch her smooth skin. As his fingers reached the delicate curve of her neck, she stiffened.

  Yet he continued, determined to feel. The air seemed to still between them as his fingers gently caressed the delectable area. Her sigh was all he needed to press further. Allowing his body to close the distance between them, he brought his other hand to her shoulder and pulled her closer.

  “I should be going,” she whispered, but her eyes never left his. The invitation was easy to read. She was as entranced as he was.

  Praying someone would stop him before he thoroughly ruined the girl, he paused, then without any further thought, he brushed his lips against hers. The response he received was undeniably innocent, weakening his grasp on reality. He pulled loose a few tendrils of hair, rubbing them between his fingers. It was like spun silk. And his mind swam with the mere thought that all he need do was compromise the poor thing, and he could spend the rest of his days and nights running his fingers through her hair.

  His nagging conscience was the only thing keeping him from pushing further, for the poor girl seemed to be melting in his grasp. And then her back stiffened.

  He recoiled, expecting a slap. Instead she gasped, throwing her hand over her mouth and let out a whimper so pitiful he wanted to be shot on the spot. Really, somebody should have held a gun to his head for taking such advantage.

  She looked blankly at him then shuddered, “I don’t know what came over me. I apologize, my lord.”

  Perfect. Now she was apologizing for being attacked. He was an absolute cad.

  “I must go, I’m—” She turned away breathlessly, then glanced back. “I’m terribly sorry, I—” Her hand rested on her heaving chest making his knees go weak all over again. “—must be going. I apologize. Please don’t tell my aunt. Please don’t tell anyone.”

  And before he had a chance to speak, she was running down the hall into the ballroom, and Sir Belverd was bellowing toward him like a prize bull. “Who was that delicious creature, Renwick? You wouldn’t happen to be…cavorting around with the girl?”

  A blinding anger burned though Nicholas unlike he’d ever experienced. How dare anyone try to ruin the poor girl’s reputation!

  Apparently you just tried, nagged his inner voice. He shook out the thought and slapped Belverd on the back. “Imagining things again, old man? I’m celibate, remember? And, need I add, extremely competitive?”

  Belverd chuckled and followed him into the ballroom. Though he searched, Nicholas never found the girl again, and that night she plagued his dreams. He had to get out of London before he went crazy. A trip to the country was just what he needed.

  ***

  He awoke the next morning with a blinding headache, thanks in part to the beautiful siren who played in his dreams all night long. Whiskey would have been a good breakfast, except Lady Fenton, his distant cousin, was apparently already waiting for him in his study. What she could possibly want, after all these years, was beyond him.

  Nicholas bounded down the stairs as loudly as possible, disregarding his own cranial pain, because Lady Fenton was the second loudest person he had ever known. He always took great personal pleasure in making her eardrums ring as badly as his own did whenever she addressed him.

  “Ah, my dear boy. How are you?” Lady Fenton greeted him with a façade of kindness and kissed him on the cheek as if they had been in constant association since the incident.

  “To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit, cousin?”

  “Straight to the point, I see.” She twisted an innocent handkerchief in her skinny hands. The unfortunate object of her frustration would be lucky to make it out of his study in one piece. “I need your help.”

  Had he been drinking, he would have spit out the liquid in a coughing fit. Help? She needed help? Since when did Lady Fenton need anything? It was always he who had needed her, until that dreadful day when they had chosen to discontinue their association outside of ton events. “How may I be of service, my lady?”

  “A favor.”

  “Fine.” Trying to keep his voice calm, he went to sit at his desk. “What would you like me to do?”

  “My niece is in town for a while, and I’m to launch her into society. After last night, I realize she is in dire straits to acquire etiquette and an ability to interact with the people of the ton. Frankly my dear, without your help she’ll more than likely follow some young man down a long hallway and ruin herself. She’s quite innocent, you understand, and has spent the whole of her life in the country.”

  A smirk played on Nicholas’s lips. How odd that a similar occurrence happened last night to a young lady at the masquerade. It would be good to keep those two away from each other considering they were both so trusting.

  There was an uncomfortable silence, and the room seemed tense with unspoken sentiment. Things which had been hidden in the chasm between the two of them for years threatened to explode into the silence. He couldn’t very well deny his cousin after all she had done for him. “I sense this is not so much a request as instructions for when to arrive at your residence?”

  “I would never force you to do anything against your will, Nicholas, but I would be most grateful if you would agree to my request.” Her demeanor expressed an uncharacteristic solemnity which spoke volumes to him. It was important to her and within his power to grant. How could he say no?

  “Shall we say this afternoon?” he questioned.

  With that, Lady Fenton pushed out of her seat and clapped her hands together. “Thank you, Nicholas! Thank you!”

  Ordinarily, no one dared to utter his Christian name. Lady Fenton was the only exception, but she hadn’t resorted to using his name in years. It pained him to hear it flow so easily from her lips now, when in the past it had been uttered as a curse.

  “I will have her ready. Oh, and Nicholas?” she added as she walked toward the door.

  He lifted his head in feigned annoyance.

  “Do try not to fall in love with her.”

  His bitter laugh should have been answer enough, but the strange look in her eyes gave him pause. So he added, “Believe me, marriage is the last thing I want from anyone.” Of course she would know that. She knew everything. How long would the sins of his past haunt him?

  Sadness seemed to wash over her face, and she nodded numbly. “This afternoon then, Nicholas. I’ll see myself out.”

  Nicholas went straight to his liquor cabinet and poured a brandy. Unfortunately the familiar sting of alcohol did nothing to squelch his churning stomach. How could he have been so stupid?

  He had kissed the girl!

  In a darkened hallway.

  Without a chaperone.

/>   Blast! He slammed his empty cup onto the table, and for a moment, contemplated allowing his head to follow suit.

  After all he had been through—would he never learn? Weren’t his past mistakes enough to keep him from pursuing any type of woman? Let alone one who reminded him so much of his mistakes. The same innocent kisses, the same captivating laughter—all the things which led him down the path of destruction. The path which forever changed his life.

  At least his tutelage of Lady Fenton’s niece would be a welcome distraction. Hopefully now he wouldn’t be spending his nights in sensual torture thinking about what he could have, or would have done had he found that beautiful creature the night before.

  No, he was better off alone. The sooner he moved on with life, the better. Plus, who was to say the chit his cousin had taken under her wing wasn’t going to be at least mildly amusing? One could only hope.

  Chapter Four

  After two days in her aunt’s house, Sara had arrived at three conclusions. One, the viscount never showed his face unless it was mealtime. Two, her aunt had more money than she knew what to do with. And three, there was absolutely nothing to do in this God forsaken house. She asked if she could go for a walk, but apparently proper young ladies did not walk about unchaperoned.

  Not that her parents had minded in the least that Sara went for walks on a regular basis. In hindsight, it was probably in hopes that someone would kidnap her and relieve them of the burden of having to feed an extra mouth.

  Negativity really wasn’t her forte, but being as bored as she was, she couldn’t help it. Her aunt hadn’t any books either! What was one to do? Sit and sew? She would probably poke an eye out. Her parents hadn’t wasted any time or effort on her education. Everything she knew was from watching her sisters’ lessons and reading. All in all she was self-taught. She had no talent to speak of, therefore had no music to practice or pictures to draw. The only highlights of her country life had been daydreaming in the fields, walking, and writing her own stories—all of which, according to aunt, were unacceptable.

  She let out a long sigh as she slowly descended the stairs, hoping to pass away time with her methodic walking. This day was to be the beginning of her high society training with the mysterious cousin. All morning her aunt drilled her on the finer points of how to walk with her head held high, smile behind a fan, eat with the right utensils, and curtsy like a courtesan. She would inevitably explode from sheer tedium. What she wouldn’t give for a field to run barefoot in and a novel to keep her warm at night. She felt incomplete without the written word; although, it was good for her to study Scripture more lately. It was like a balm to her wounded soul, especially considering the events of the previous night. How she had managed to get herself in that predicament was beyond her. She had already been compromised after her first night! If her aunt ever caught wind of the incident, she would be furious!

  Just then, her aunt’s booming voice echoed through the hall, mingling with the unmistakable low voice of a man, which sounded like warm honey. It was deep and velvet. Just listening to it felt like a caress to her heart. She braced herself for their meeting, knowing that one look at her and any man with such a voice would most likely flee, or worse—he would pity her.

  ***

  Nicholas was having a difficult time recalling exactly how he had gotten himself into such an unsavory situation while climbing the stairs to Lady Fenton’s door. His cousin had a way of pulling favors from anyone which made even the strongest of men bow to requests. In this case, however, she didn’t hold a favor over his head. It was her mere presence reminding him of the past, and her honest solemn plea for his help, making it impossible for him to deny her the favor. She needed a gentleman who would know the ton well enough to coach her young protégé, but who was also wise enough not to touch her.

  Lady Fenton provoked him enough to accept, but now he also felt challenged. She had the audacity to warn him not to touch the girl, as if he would actually fall to woman’s feet just because she was attractive, or as his cousin put it earlier today: devastating—whatever that meant.

  Lady Fenton’s old steward met him at the door and announced his arrival to the woman of the house, who sashayed briskly into the hall and offered her hand in greeting. Nicholas kissed it perfunctorily. “You look radiant as always, cousin,” he crooned.

  “Thank you, my dear. I see your eyesight hasn’t improved. We will set up in the drawing room. I believe my niece is waiting there for us. Will you follow me?”

  They made their way to the first floor drawing room. Lady Fenton spoke interminable of her plans for the girl’s debut. He shook his head as his cousin went on and on. Did women never tire of such sport?

  She led him into the drawing room.

  He froze and stopped breathing all at once; it felt as if the air had been sucked from the room. He took one look at the girl and, for old times’ sake, swore under his breath. He immediately asked for forgiveness in his heart as his eyes caressed the girl sitting before him.

  She seemed tense, almost as if bracing for some sort of impact. Well, I would probably behave the same way living in this mad woman’s house, he thought. Then he stole another look at her.

  It couldn’t be.

  No.

  But it was.

  Hell. He was in his own personal Hell. Only this time there was no escape, because sitting in front of him was the same girl he had mauled in the hallway the night before. And by the look in her eyes, she recognized him, too. A deep blush swept from her chest all the way up that neck his fingers had burned to touch. Yes, God was punishing him and doing a thorough job.

  “Sit straight, my dear!” Lady Fenton scolded.

  “And so it begins,” he grumbled under his breath. He strode over to the girl and kissed her hand quickly. His lips held the tingling sensation long afterward, and it was a good five minutes before he could think logically again.

  His cousin droned on interminably about the coming days, and he couldn’t help but allow his eyes and thoughts to wander back to the poor creature seated before him. No doubt she would be eaten alive by the ton. She was too beautiful for her own good. She wore no face paint, not that she needed it at all. Her dark lashes naturally extended further than most women’s and were thick, almost dewy looking. Her lips were pale pink, the color of a fair rose. Her skin was dark, but it framed such a beautiful jawline that one hardly took notice. Her eyes, the same beautiful emeralds from the night before, were like a burning furnace of emotion. She would quite easily have her pick of any man she desired.

  It had to be a test from God to be put in the same room as this girl. She is a debutante just like all the rest of them, he kept reminding himself over and over again until he thought he’d go mad.

  “Shall we start with a waltz?” Lady Fenton asked, no, it was actually more of a statement. He paled as he looked down at the girl.

  “Don’t just sit there,” his cousin bellowed. “Get up! Your looks are no reason to act unapproachable or mute!” The outburst jolted Nicholas, and he glanced quickly to the girl on the settee.

  She looked like she had just been struck, yet a certain intelligence hung behind her eyes, making him feel as if he was in for a lot more than lessons. It was obvious she had a temper, even though she concealed it quite well. It would behoove him to remember that in case he accidently provoked the poor thing.

  An image of her chasing after her aunt with her fan entered his mind; he cleared his throat to mask the chuckle trying to betray his amusement and held his hand out to her. She eyed him reluctantly before accepting it. Her touch sent familiar sensations shuddering all the way down to his toes; it was like stepping into Dante’s Inferno. How long had it been since he experienced this depth of attraction? Oh yes—around twelve hours. He had gone two whole years without any hint of scandal or misconduct, yet one simple touch from this maiden was enough to undo him.

  Nicholas led her gently to the middle of the room. He bowed casually before asking, “Are we su
re this dance is appropriate for Miss—” He looked down at her in question. Ironically, Lady Fenton failed to make the proper introductions, or he somehow missed the name of the beauty.

  “Sai. You may call me Sai,” she informed him in a smooth sultry voice. He nearly moaned in agony. How could he have forgotten her voice was that of a temptress? Had he not already determined he was in Hell? Might as well add her voice to the list of completely spell-binding tortures she wielded.

  She curtsied uncertainly before him, bowing her head slightly forward. A few tendrils of her velvety black hair fell onto her forehead, escaping the hairpins. Impulsively, he reached forward and brushed the wandering strands from her face, shocking himself and Sai, leaving both of them staring at each other as if the sun had suddenly stopped shining.